2 Ethnographic research with sex workers’ collectives: between academic and activist relevance

The selection of an ethnographic approach for investigating the formal and informal dynamics that shape the social regulation of sex and sexuality was particularly motivated by the need to access aspects that might otherwise remain hidden.

Studies in anthropology and political science examining the interaction between sex workers and the state (Ferreira & Lowenkron Reference Ferreira and Lowenkron2020; Fried et al. Reference Fried2024; Murray Reference Murray2014, Reference Murray2015; Moraes Reference Moraes2021) have demonstrated that bureaucratic official reports often fail to accurately represent the lived experiences of sex workers. This discrepancy may emerge when bureaucrats, state agents and even some academics obscure certain aspects of these experiences, such as denying the suffering or the agency of sex workers. Additionally, sex workers themselves may shape their narratives differently when interacting with state agents and scholars. This context indicates that many of the experiences of sex workers are frequently overlooked, misunderstood or obscured by official public records.

Adding to that, the topic of sex work generates significant disputes within the scientific community, often accompanied by accusations of methodological and ethical inconsistencies, and reliance on stereotypes and stigma.Footnote ⁴ Thus, the decision to co-produce knowledge alongside a collective of sex workers with over two decades of activity is grounded in the understanding that the analysis of empirical findings necessitates not only a critical and theoretical examination of the evidence but also a continuous dialogue between researchers and established activist groups (Fried et al. Reference Fried2024).

As I will present, while analysing Brazilian empirical research within the context of sex work, I highlight those where there is an attempt by the researcher to align with a critical stance that distances itself from that of the ‘powerful’ (Becker 1970/Reference Becker2017).

When it comes to Brazilian sex work, Amara Moira and Monique Prada, both sex worker activists, interpellated academics and feminists with the book Putafeminista (‘whore feminist’), Moira in the preface of the book and Prada (Reference Prada2018) in its full content. This piece is a consequence of how the sex worker political movement developed strategies to better engage with feminists, scholars and researchers since the 1980s.

In a nutshell, in the preface of this book (titled Prostituindo saberes – ‘whoring knowledge’), Moira underscored the necessity for more narratives about real sex workers’ experiences – stories that are not one-dimensional and solely linked to violence. This highlights the importance of ‘talking about’ and ‘writing about’ real sex workers and their genuine experiences in all types of contexts.

In recent years there has been a proliferation of publications by Brazilian sex workers, adding to the already consolidated autobiography of Leite (Reference Leite2008)Footnote ⁵ – one of the founders of the movement. However, this chapter analyses significant studies on sex work and sex workers in which the authors, as scholars, engaged with the complexities of their positionality and the ethical implications of their work. Ultimately, these studies showcase how the authors engaged with activists who were aware of proliferating stigmas and stereotypes about them, and how this interaction affected them – in such a way that their productions were whored by the interlocutors of their research.

Following an extensive literature review, I selected three studies based on ethnographic research within Brazilian sex work environments and sex workers’ activism. This examination aims to illustrate some ‘whoring the knowledge’ frameworks, from what is articulated by Moira (Reference Moira2016). This analysis enhances the understanding of the relationship between academic production and activism in Brazil, with a specific focus on sex work research.

Reflecting on how the concept of prostitution (or whoring) is usually shaped by limiting discourses and narratives that are ‘irremediably tied to the most perverse aspects of violence’ (Moira Reference Moira2016, p. 12), Moira advocated for literature produced by sex workers, emphasising the importance of sex workers speaking and writing about their own experiences, rather than relying on those who do not engage in monetised sex to represent them.

This calls into question the idea of positionality of researchers who approach these groups – as well as other vulnerable groups. However, what I observe in the three selected works is that in ethnographic works with politically engaged sex workers, they demand that researchers take into account whored knowledge. In this sense, I also bring the other point of Moira’s (Reference Moira2016) argument: she explained that analysing complex problems by having the puteiro (whorehouse) experience as a perspective not only generates better awareness about prostitution but also explores what prostitution could elucidate about society. As she pointed out: ‘[Monique Prada, by whoring the knowledge], goes further and makes us see, rather, that prostitution speaks of society and also removes its veils, thus becoming an essential perspective from which to think about this very same society’ (Moira Reference Moira2016, p. 15).

Prada also elaborates on how ‘conventional’ feminism, as she called it, does not reach the brothel/whorehouse, unless it is through salvationism or hate speech, threatening the source of income and livelihood of sex workers (Prada Reference Prada2018). In this approach, considering the integrity of her book, there is also a metaphorical aspect in the idea of the whorehouse, as it refers to where people who are marginalised and de-legitimised by academics, policy and feminism are located.

The first framework stems from Laura Rebecca Murray’s research on Brazilian sex worker activism. At the outset of her doctoral programme, Murray was already an ally and activist within the Brazilian sex worker movement. By acknowledging this positionality, she elaborated not only on her methodological and epistemological processes but also on her personal engagement with specific sex worker collectives, as well as her close relationship with Gabriela Leite. These connections held her to a high ethical standard. In this sense, it can be argued that the movement made her more self-conscious about how she would conduct her research. Indeed, Gabriela explicitly stated that Murray’s research must hold significance for the social movement. Whatever Murray discovered through her research would have to consider how it would impact the movement. Furthermore, the challenge posed by her connections was the strategy through which the sex workers’ leaders guaranteed that her academic knowledge be whored.

Next, I present Letícia Cardoso Barreto’s investigation (2015) on prostitution and feminism in the capital of one of Brazil’s states. Through her experience accompanying a political group of sex workers, she became known not only as a researcher but also as a technical reference for the organisation and a ‘militant volunteer’. When discussing her ‘place in the [sex work] debate’ (Barreto Reference Barreto2015, p. 28), she justified her personal and political relationship with the field by emphasising that her work was conducted through a feminist epistemological lens. In addition to this feminist perspective, her research, which depended on following a specific political organisation, required her, as mandated by her fieldwork, to ‘adopt certain stances and align herself with their goals and methods of operation’ (Barreto Reference Barreto2015, p. 28). Consequently, she adopted a political stance aligned with the so-called ‘labour model’ regarding prostitution and advocated for framing the sex worker movement as part of the feminist discourse. In order to be able to frequent spaces that were important to her research with the organisation, she had to be politically positioned.

Later, Barreto (Reference Barreto2022) described the experience of woman researchers as common, particularly those who are deeply involved in the field of sex work. According to her, initially there is often a fear of being mistaken for a sex worker, an experience she noted had happened to her on several occasions. Over time, this fear can evolve into a sense of admiration that leads to a near-desire for that identity. Barreto observed that scholars with whom she collaborated are increasingly interested in engaging with sex work, as their experiences have prompted them to reassess their personal relationships and recognise the greater freedom and autonomy that sex workers may possess. According to her, this experience transforms into a sense of connection with them, fostering solidarity and enabling collective action. As I will detail, it could be argued that within this near-desire for the sex worker identity, there may instead be sympathy and interest in the sex workers’ boldness – a desire to be courageous like a whore.

Finally, in a more comprehensive study aimed at investigating the actors within the sex worker social movement in Brazil, Guerra (Reference Guerra2019) described her methodology as a ‘mixed’ approach, incorporating ethnographies of events and document analysis. She articulated her ‘position of voice’ in accordance with Donna Haraway (1988/Reference Haraway1993), aiming to ‘define the (her) perspective of the research that produces situated knowledge’ (Guerra Reference Guerra2019, p. 34). Contrary to Murray and Barreto, Guerra explicitly tried to avoid being associated with specific groups, stating that she was an ally to the whole movement, refraining from aligning with any specific networks in order to steer clear of internal disputes and to maintain her mobility within the organised movement. She mentioned a specific situation in which a prostitute leader even said that Guerra’s job was not to have a political position – in this case, a political position on a controversial issue within the movement. From this example, it is possible to complexify the recognition of one’s own position vis-à-vis the movement. The movement itself is not monolithic, and the researcher is not – and, for sex worker activists, should not be – an activist like any other.

In another aspect, Guerra described that she was identified as ‘the researcher’ – cisgender, white and affiliated with ‘the academy’ (Guerra Reference Guerra2019, p. 35). Despite this distancing from the activists, she explained that her growing admiration for the interlocutors made her research more powerful, while she was also discovering herself as an activist.

These understandings of power dynamics, coupled with the ethnographic experience not of living ‘in the real lives’ of sex workers, but living ‘in the real lives’ of sex work activists, suggest that researching in the metaphorical and literal whorehouse provokes the researchers with the requirement of an ethical and activist commitment in the production of knowledge. Engaging with these three examples, entering the field of sex work activism presupposes a sense of responsibility and ethics that, rather than being universally applicable, acknowledges the internal complexities of the movement.

Having the knowledge whored is not merely adopting a feminist perspective of positionality or an academic sense of responsibility. Rather, it involves allowing the contributions and controversies in knowledge production, as well as political positions, to be openly displayed. This openness invites not only the scrutiny of academic peers but also the interrogation by sex workers themselves – in all their diversity. As I present below, in the experience with the political collective Tulipas do Cerrado, this has led me to rethink my relationship with the law itself.

3 Having the knowledge whored by Tulipas do Cerrado: ethnographic research with a sex worker and harm reduction collective

In this section I reflect on my experiences with the Network for Harm Reduction and Sex Workers of the Federal District and Surrounding Areas (commonly known as the Tulipas do Cerrado Collective), where my engagement with sex workers’ perspectives and the harm reduction principles prompted a re-evaluation of my academic practice and relevance. This is intrinsically linked to the concept of ‘whoring the knowledge’.

My ethnographic approach considers the literature derived from urban ethnographies involving specific sexual communities – such as homosexuals – has faced critiques that help refine the studies by underscoring the necessity of theoretical frameworks (Rubin Reference Rubin2011). With that, I also evoke the perspective that posits that ethnographic efforts should be accompanied by a robust theoretical framework – whether to confirm, complement or disconfirm theoretical analyses of social practices – and an epistemic reflexivity (Bourdieu and Wacquant Reference Wacquant and Bourdieu1992; Wacquant Reference Wacquant2009).

Adding to that, I considered the publicly known history of the Brazilian sex worker movement, which today is composed of three national networks of collectives. Its activism began in the 1980s, mainly motivated by confronting police brutality and, later, by challenging the stigmas associated with prostitution and sexually transmitted infections, while still struggling with HIV/AIDS epidemic. Because of this history, they are now used to navigating prejudicial discourses about them (Guerra Reference Guerra2019; Murray Reference Murray2014, Reference Murray2015).

As continuity to this, the Tulipas do Cerrado collective was founded in the 2000s, composed of sex workers, individuals experiencing homelessness, drug users and other marginalised groups, all united by the principles of harm reduction. This is the only sex workers’ collective in the Federal District. The idea of harm reduction adopted by the collective can be summarised by the content of one of the booklets produced by TulipasFootnote ⁶ and RENFA – National Network of Antiprohibitionist Feminists (pending publication):

The incorporation of this approach into the collective’s ethos was inspired by Juma Santos, the general co-ordinator and founder of the collective, who experienced homelessness during her childhood and part of her adult life, which in turn introduced her to the concept of harm reduction.

I first approached the collective in 2020, expecting to interview Juma for my master’s degree research on how the relationships between the actors involved in sex work are expressed in their discourses and what arguments they use to justify their actions and regulatory proposals for that activity. In addition to her, for that research I interviewed more than twenty people – including activists and sex workers, feminists who work on this issue and state agents. All the sex workers interviewed expressed concerns about the way I would portray them in my dissertation – demanding that it should not be stigmatising – and some insinuated that it was not much use for me to interview them without frequenting the puteiro (whorehouse).

Juma, in another strategy, insisted that I participate in some of the collective’s activities before she shared any substantive information with me or let me conduct any interviews. I was able to interview her in 2021, but she did not let me interview any of the other Tulipas until 2022. Her caution was rooted in previous negative experiences with researchers, and she sought to establish a rapport before extending me any trust. During the last four years Juma repeatedly recounted instances where researchers collected her critical reflections and published them as their own,Footnote ⁷ where researchers promised to contribute to the collective in exchange for data collection but failed to uphold their commitments and instances where researchers approached with preconceived stereotypes that were harmful to the Tulipas.

Because she demanded so, I began attending their activities, and although Juma remained cautious, she recognised my background as a lawyer as a potential resource for the Tulipas, who frequently face legal challenges. Additionally, she viewed my identity as a Black/mixed-race woman as a valuable reference for the collective’s discussions on racism, thereby positioning me as strategically relevant to her political intentions.

A couple of months later, Juma began to seek my assistance not only for legal matters but also in writing funding proposals for the organisation. She was grappling with a complex sentiment: while she maintained a critical stance toward academic researchers, the devastating impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on her community had led her to adapt her trust guidelines. During the COVID-19 pandemic, sex workers in Brazil faced significant challenges, such as the denialist stance of the Brazilian federal government, which made it difficult for them to access emergency social relief, maintain their income and adhere to public health protocols (Moraes and Prandini Reference Moraes and Prandini2023; Rodrigues Reference Rodrigues2021; Santos et al. Reference Santos2020).

Since the Tulipas allowed me access to the collective’s principles and discourses so that I could write projects aimed at securing funding for the Tulipas, I had to learn about harm reduction, frequent the red-light zone and engage in several activities.

To my surprise, still in 2022, Juma, who had previously expressed discomfort with the idea of interviewing the sex workers in the collective, asked me to facilitate the implementation of a questionnaire to assess how sex workers could feel safer and secure their rights, particularly their labour rights. I now realise that, despite the fact that sex workers were beginning to emerge from the health crisis of the COVID-19 pandemic, they were still experiencing a decrease in clients, leading to significant financial instability and increased dependence on government assistance, charitable support or social movements – of which the Tulipas do Cerrado collective was a part. In this context, Juma was contemplating how to prevent these issues from persisting and sought my assistance as a researcher.

One of the main aspects of the questionnaire application was that I would not be the primary interviewer, nor would the data collected be solely for my individual research. Instead, the sex worker members of the Tulipas do Cerrado collective would conduct the interviews themselves. Additionally, Juma hoped that the collected data would help us build a comprehensive scenario of sex workers in the Federal District and also would be a resource for the collective’s advocacy.

Previously, I had learned – particularly from empirical research in Legal Studies (Baptista Reference Baptista and Machado2019) – that a good participant observer is committed to fieldwork in a way that emphasises learning and never intervening. But Juma’s active process of influencing (or rather whoring) my knowledge production and, subsequently, the establishment of trust between us to collaborate effectively – ultimately benefiting the collective – made that distancing impossible for me. If ethnographic work entails immersing oneself in a specific group in order to access its implicit dynamics, I realised that I had to engage with their political activities, as Tulipas tended to trust those who shared their principles and practices.

In parallel, Tulipas asserted their role as knowledge producers by conducting analyses and issuing statements on broader societal issues – such as the war on drugs, public security, health and not solely on sex work (Moraes et al. Reference Moraes, Santos and Assis2020; Fritz and Brasil Reference Fritz and Brasil2024). A symbol of this statement is the Term of Responsibility for conducting research with the Tulipas do Cerrado, produced by the Tulipas in 2025 and to be signed by all researchers wishing to conduct research with them. Key clauses include clear presentation of the study’s objectives, methodology and theoretical framework to participants and transparency in data analysis, requiring that all documents containing analysed data be sent to Tulipas before publication.

Therefore, as Prada (Reference Prada2018) suggested, and as my initial interviews with sex workers implied when advising me to spend time in the puteiro, knowledge in this context originates from the experiences of brothels, red-light districts and sex workers themselves. With Tulipas, they whored my knowledge and integrated me into their epistemological paradigms. It was as if they were asserting: ‘you cannot conduct any ethnography with us unless you learn and apply our set of principles and share our political commitment’.

Moreover, we have developed a harm reduction and whoring approach that extends beyond the production of knowledge. From our reflections on law and advocacy, including with another popular lawyer in collaboration with Tulipas, Mariana Prandini Assis, ‘whoring the law’ emerges as a possibility – or rather, a concrete reality – as I elaborate below.

4 Whoring the law: rethinking law from the whorehouse

An intriguing moment arose during the training sessions for the application of the questionnaire mentioned above, when Bruna Santos, one of the Tulipas who had previously participated as a subject in a health research study, approached me with visible frustration. She asked, ‘Why do you academics need to ask about our lives and opinions, so we do your job?’ In response, I clarified that my inquiries were relevant, as I could not make claims about a reality without evidence. The term ‘evidence’ resonated with the group, many of whom had dealt with legal cases. In support of my explanation, Beatrys, another Tulipa, interjected, ‘Exactly! We are like witnesses in a case, providing evidence!’

Legal concepts, especially those of criminal cases, were part of Tulipas’ vocabulary. Many of them reached out to me to talk about lawsuits against them and their family members for drug trafficking, harassment and other offences, while they sued other people for issues related to LGBT-phobia, domestic violence, etc. Adding to that, Tulipas engaged in advocacy related to the war on drugs, the regulation of sex work and other matters. In other words, dealing with the law is part of the Tulipas do Cerrado.

Since ‘whoring the knowledge’ is not only disputing narratives about sex workers, but also looking at various problems from the point of view of the whorehouse – literal and metaphorical – I return to the elaboration of the collective on harm reduction as a way of looking at broader relationships (RENFA 2025):

In terms of advocacy, sex worker social movement leaders were invited to develop the content of the Brazilian Classification of Occupations (CBO) on prostitution (Murray Reference Murray2015) and they participated in reflections on the drafting of legislative proposal n. 4.211, of 2012, known as the ‘Gabriela Leite Bill’ (which ‘Regulates the activity of sex professionals’). However, the CBO is mainly an administrative instrument that recognises the existence of sex work, while not regulating it. Furthermore, at least in the territory where we conducted the Tulipas questionnaire, most of the workers were not even aware that there was a state document recognising sex work as legitimate labour.

In parallel with these few engagements with the state, sex workers were involved in other matters, such as the war on drugs, as they are commonly associated as either criminals or victims of it (Malheiro Reference Malheiro2020). For example, as we were attentive while doing Tulipas harm reduction work where sex workers offer their services, we confirmed that the police significantly influence their working conditions and daily routines. Police patrols were frequently observed and incidents of arrest based only on clients’ complaints were reported, highlighting that a client’s word can lead to criminalisation of the worker. We concluded that ‘this punitive approach creates two main vulnerabilities for sex workers: it criminalizes their bodies despite sex work not being illegal, and it leaves them unprotected from violence by clients and others’ (Fritz and Brasil Reference Fritz and Brasil2024, p. 6).

Subsequently, during our harm reduction activities and while administering the questionnaire, we engaged in extensive discussions about the significance of caring about the legislation. Since I began working with the Tulipas, my legal background often overshadowed my academic affiliation, as the group framed much of their suffering as legal issues, especially in criminal cases, invoking concepts of fairness, justice and rightful claims. In many daily moments, Tulipas would emphatically assert phrases such as ‘this is not right, this is against the law, so-and-so is committing a crime!’ On the other hand, they framed civil, labour and constitutional rights as mere illusions.

In this sense, I could identify legal consciences – ‘how sex workers understand, interact with, and use the law in their daily lives and work in different legal contexts’ – (Scoular et al. Reference Scoular2025a, p. 7) of discrediting the legal corpus as coherently protective, that is: civil, labour or constitutional law, as a comprehensive framework, is not enough to protect them. On the other hand, there is a moral feeling for what fairness and justice are, concomitant with a desire to engage in understanding the law. Together, these allow the development of hypotheses and experiments in dealing with this landscape.

Despite this idea of illusions, following Juma’s command when she decided to apply the questionnaire, we attempted to emphasise the importance of advocating for legislative changes that could enhance sex workers’ lives as workers. However, when we began discussing the potential for changing laws or altering legal interpretations related to sex work, many members, including myself, expressed scepticism. In this sense, I often communicated to the group that I understood their concerns regarding the law as a ‘box of surprises’, which can yield confusing, undesirable and ambiguous consequences that are subject to manipulation and often fail to encompass everyone, particularly those who are marginalised.

On the other hand, it was by engaging with these mixed reflections and feelings that we realised that the principles of harm reduction can be applied in any context, including when dealing with the law. That is, the harm reduction perspective assumes that life involves encountering danger and risks, requiring an active stance towards mapping these concrete dangers and risks, positioning oneself in relation to them, and seeking to mitigate potential harm without impeding the autonomy of individuals and social groups.

For example, during one of our activities (Fritz and Brasil Reference Fritz and Brasil2024), one sex worker, who shares a residence with colleagues in the same profession, expressed that the police exploit the fact that she lives in a red-light district in order to attempt entry into their home without a warrant. Adhering to legal guidelines and our reiterated advice, she firmly refused to allow them entry. After many days of resistance, the police resorted to using pepper spray and insisting to the point that she opened her door. Although we had advised her to avoid such situations whenever possible, we also recommended that if it were to happen again, she should record the encounter, even if only through audio, and ensure that her housemates were present as witnesses. This guidance is not only a legal approach but also a harm reduction strategy considering that she has a high likelihood of facing legal proceedings, even if based on false evidence.

This approach recognises the more comprehensive legal advocacy culture from civil society – aiming to change the law – but also seeks to support individuals in their complicated relationships with state agents and the legal system. It requires both mapping the collective and individual risks and sharing knowledge to face them.

But ‘whoring the knowledge’ is more than an application of harm reduction to dealing with the law. In another notable instance, we found ourselves gathered in front of the National Congress, protesting against a legislative proposal that aimed to criminalise the possession and carrying of narcotics and related substances, regardless of quantity or context. Our presence there was motivated by the fact that some of us – legal practitioners, educators and leaders with a more academic perspective – identified this as an important agenda. The area was under surveillance, though not as heavily policed as certain locations where Tulipas’ sex workers conduct their activities.

Suddenly, I glanced to my side and saw a Tulipa, a sex worker with a prior drug trafficking charge, smoking a joint (a marijuana cigarette). I exclaimed, ‘Friend, look at all the police here! We’d better be cautious, so you don’t get in trouble.’ This advice reflects a common harm reduction strategy employed by public interest lawyers associated with social movements: when participating in protests, marches or similar political actions, it is advisable to avoid unnecessary actions that could provoke the police.

She turned to me and responded, ‘Well, aren’t we here precisely because of this?’ Her words highlighted to me that the simple act of using marijuana is not formally considered a crime in Brazil (in fact, the bill we were protesting aimed to change this). Moreover, if we accepted the premise that its consumption could be criminalised, we would be advocating for the defence of something that, in reality, did not exist. Her audacity and boldness, confronting the state and exposing the contradiction between the law and its enforcement, challenged my understanding of what constitutes an unnecessary action. If she, a woman who could potentially be targeted by law enforcement (since she already faced a prior drug trafficking charge), felt empowered to ‘provoke’ the state and expose its contradictions, why shouldn’t I?

This stance resembles an activist practice carried out by one of the most famous trans sex workers in Brazil – Indianarae Siqueira (Altmayer and Portinari Reference Altmayer and Portinari2017). Indianarae is a trans woman with breasts. During a protest in 2012, she witnessed cis women afraid of being arrested for marching showing their breasts. So, Indianarae assembled a group of trans women to expose their breasts during the march, as the police could not legally intervene against them because of their official gender designation. This revealed the gendered character of the police. Indianarae continued this practice in various locations and her actions often resulted in police intervention and legal challenges. To address this situation, she called lawyers, and they referred to her as masculine, while the police, hoping to legitimise their arrest, treated her as feminine. As Altmayer and Portinari (Reference Altmayer and Portinari2017) put it: ‘In the violence of a direct confrontation with police authorities as a means of access to judicial processes, Indianara is disturbing, exposing the gaps of a normative discourse that intends to be determinant.’

Engaging with such experiences prompts researchers to apply a bolder and more creative way of thinking and living, even from a socio-legal perspective. These exchanges with the so-called ‘whores’ or putas present an opportunity to rethink the role of law within these marginalised communities and for concrete social transformation that takes into account each experience and form of autonomy. This is the idea of ‘whoring the law’, as I propose: maintaining a perspective of transforming existing rules, seeking strategies to reduce harm and risks of becoming ensnared in the justice system and mainly adopting a bold creative approach to living and operating in relation to the law.

This idea also dialogues with Murray’s (Reference Murray2014) idea of puta politics. Murray developed this concept from Gabriela Leite’s reflections on activism. In summary, puta Footnote ⁸ politics is a form of politics that (a) employs humour and pleasure to challenge societal norms and advocate for sex workers’ rights from a position of empowerment rather than victimhood; (b) seeks to disrupt hierarchies between institutional structures and street-level activism, prioritising political engagement in red-light districts; and (c) is characterised by its duality, sustaining some systems while dismantling others; its unpredictability serves as a strength in resisting conventional norms.

As for ‘whoring the law’, it means having a posture towards formal legislation – implying an understanding of its shortcomings and possibilities – and towards the practical operations of both state and non-state institutions. Knowledge of these dynamics values a peer education process – among sex workers and socio-legal scholars. Adding to that, ‘whoring the law’ implies an experimentation with bold practices within these dynamics, playing with the duality of puta politics. Still, complementing other studies related to the legal consciousness of sex workers (Scoular et al. Reference Scoular2025a, Reference Scoular2025b), the practice of ‘whoring the law’, at least in the Tulipas do Cerrado, was profoundly related to an active interest and a substantial knowledge of the formal legal statutes, acquired by the exchange between activists and academia and by having confronted criminal cases.

As a final example, I recall that during my initial engagements as a lawyer and legal educator with sex workers, I adopted a practice learned from an experienced lawyer specialising in domestic violence. Given the challenges in Brazil for sex workers and trans women in obtaining protective measures under the national legislation on domestic violence, this lawyer advised trans workers, in particular, to report incidents at the police station while ‘appearing beautiful and crying profusely’, distancing themselves from masculine symbols and ‘emphasizing their femininity’, under the rationale that it was their femininity that had been harmed (Moraes Reference Moraes2021). This strategy was effective for her and worked for some trans women I advised. Police officers did seem more inclined to protect them when they highlighted their vulnerability through what the officers identified as feminine traits.

However, after nearly five years of immersion in the collective, I noticed that many of them – including cis women – rejected or felt uncomfortable with this strategy. They felt it was not worth denying their strength and agency in order to obtain a protective measure, which they were not even sure would protect them.Footnote ⁹ After realising that, I began to support their stance, co-creating with them the narrative that strong, agentic individuals are also victims of violence and deserve protection, according to the law. We were all aware of the legislation and the likelihood that, if they presented themselves as strong and agentic, the protective measure would not be granted. Yet, they chose to assert their strength and agency, reiterating that strong people can be harmed too. This is what it means to whore the law.

5 Conclusion

This article developed the argument that ethnography with politically engaged vulnerable groups necessarily transforms, or should transform, the researcher’s activist practice. At first, I highlighted the transformative potential of collaborative research that engages with sex workers’ interventions in our academic endeavours. The concept of ‘whoring the knowledge’, as articulated by Amara Moira, serves as a powerful framework for understanding how knowledge can be reclaimed and redefined by sex workers.

This approach not only challenges dominant narratives surrounding sex work and empowers individuals to assert their agency and influence the discourse that shapes their lives but also offers other perspectives to analyse complex problems, from the puteiro perspective. Furthermore, the subsequent proposal of the ‘whoring the law’ concept illustrates how legal frameworks can be navigated creatively and strategically, allowing communities to advocate for their rights while recognising the limitations and risks inherent in engaging with the legal system.

More than that, through the ethnographic accounts discussed, it was observed that the activist-scholarship reciprocal engagement prompts a bolder and more creative approach. In this context, ‘whoring the law’ can be operationalised by embracing a courageous approach to living and working in defiance of the law. This framework enriches our understanding of the relationship between marginalised communities and the legal system while emphasising the potential for activism to inform and deepen academic inquiry in the field of socio-legal studies.

Finally, I propose that this approach can contribute to a more precise analysis on both ethnographic endeavours and scholarship-activism.